In the Beginning
by twacorbies
Summary: Timeline: Post Journey's End, Characters/Pairing: Rose, Rose/TenII, Summery: Rose is abandoned once again on Bad Wolf Bay. One shot.


In the beginning was the word

And the word was with them

And the word was them

And they spoke the word together

And they lived

She was so angry he had left, she could barely look his duplicate in the eye. It wasn't his fault of course, thrown into existence without even a thought from The Doctor as to what it would be like for him. A Timelord's mind and soul in the body of a man, trapped in an alternate universe? Trapped on a solitary planet? For the first time she realized just how selfish he could be. Had he become that way while she was gone, or had he always been that way and she simply hadn't seen it. She swallowed and felt hot agony engulfing her, threatening to strangle it's way up her throat.

She'd tried so hard to find him again, and when she finally made it? Somehow it just wasn't the same. It was like he'd crumpled up the piece of himself that had loved her, and simply—thrown it away.

He, the duplicate, had kissed her. A kiss she had longed for, for _so_ long. But when she heard the sound of the Tardis slipping away, something inside her had cracked. Stitches over a broken heart, breaking open and bleeding afresh.

They'd been stuck, out in the wilderness by the lake, and had had to hike to civilization with no supplies and no transport. When they finally got there, back to the land of people, it was rather difficult to explain where they'd come from with no money and no passports. Mickey had contacted some of their government partners, but the secrecy of their original mission had been such that it took a few weeks before they were finally back home. Or "home," as she always thought of it. The Doctor couldn't possibly have dropped them off in London, where they actually lived. Or left them on Earth—her real home. She had no desire to stay in an alternate dimension.

Still, there was nothing to be done. She took this new man-Doctor home to her flat. What could she do? He had no where to go. No job history, no birth certificate, no nothing. She shook her head when she thought of it. _So bloody selfish_.

And then, there was _him_. She didn't even know what to call him. When he, this man-Doctor, looked at her his face was happy, but his eyes were guarded. He held back, knowing everything about her. Had experienced everything as though he _were_ The Doctor—yet knew it was all an illusion. It wasn't really him, was it? He was an outsider. An imposter. An interloper even. Unloved, she winced. Unwanted. And yet—_so wanted_. So desired, she dare not even think it.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what to do wif ya," Rose said with a soft laugh. She was telling the truth, but she didn't want to sound like a cow. She wanted to keep things light if at all possible.

It had been a few days since they arrived back in London. At first getting everyone home had been the priority, and they'd just ignored the new Doctor's strange predicament. But now that they were here, and everyone else was settled, well, it had evolved into the proverbial elephant in the room.

"Perfectly alright, I'll be out of your way soon. I'm sorry to be such a burden." The new Doctor's voice was even, matter-of-fact.

"What? No, no, it's not that," she rubbed her temple and slid down onto the sofa next to him.

"Give me a week or two, I should have everything sorted. Job, flat. I promise. I won't intrude on your hospitality," he looked up from the job section of the paper and directly into her eye. His voice was cool, level.

"I just meant to sit down and—I dunno, talk. I don' want ya to rush out th'door," she smiled a small smile.

"What's there to talk about? You don't owe me anything, Rose, this situation was decided for us. We're just making the best of things," he turned back to the paper. Seemingly trying to end the conversation. He had that wall up—the one she knew so well.

"Please stop, just stop alright. I'm a bit thrown, I am. 'Ow can I not be? But that doesn't mean—"

"What?"

"I don't know. I don't like this. Please let's not be like this," sudden desperation gripped her, Rose felt a catch in her throat. She took a breath. _What on earth, am I going to cry?_ she wondered. She squeezed her hands so tight her nails bit into flesh. She felt so confused.

"Like what," for a moment his voice softened and his demeanor changed; he set the paper down on the coffee table in front of them.

"Like we're strangers passin on th'sidewalk. Can't even be bothered to say good mornin. Please, I can't—I just—" she broke off, loosing her footing.

"What are you trying to tell me, you want to live happily ever after like he said? Come on now." There was that coldness again. He leaned back into the couch and took his glasses off, rubbing his eyes.

"Can't we just—talk about this. Tell the truth," she asked. He looked at her quizzically. They were quiet for a long moment. He put his glasses into his jacket pocket—a gesture that seemed so final and resigned she thought he'd get up and leave.

"I'm in your hands, Rose," he said finally. "Everything in my life depends on your graciousness and understanding; especially if I'm not wanted here."

"I don't mean for ya to feel that way," her came slowly. "I don't know what to say to ya. The first moment when I wake up and you're here, for a moment, it's like you're _you_. But then, you're kind of not you. It's confusing, I don't know how to react, or what to say. Who are ya exactly? I need to know because once you were a man I met on the street runnin away from crazed store mannequins and next ya change your face and became someone completely different. I had to learn ya all over again. Now—I— If ya tell me you're still the same—if ya really are, just— I can't keep wonderin."

"I—don't know," he sighed. "I think like me. I feel like me—the one heart beat is a little strange. I feel tired all the time. That never used to happen. I wake up tired, what's that about? One minute I'm too hot, the next minute I'm too cold. My hair needs washing. I sweat—that's not normal. And at night, I lie awake. Exhausted, I can't sleep. I lie there thinking—I keep thinking how you must hate me."

"I don't hate you," she paused, looking away. "Ya just frighten me a bit."

"I frighten me a bit," he said. She slid closer and reached down, squeezing her hand between his and the couch cushion. She twined their fingers together, drawing hers through his empty spaces. Interlocking. His palm was warm and dry—just like always.

"I thought I'd lost my home when I lost Gallifrey," he began, "And then I knew I'd lost it when you fell through the void." His voice was so soft, almost a whisper. "But now, for the first time, I really don't know what to do." Her left hand squeezed his, while her right found his rough cheek. She pressed it softly so he faced her and she leaned over and kissed him. She felt him tense, as though he were holding back the tide. He pulled away.

"It wasn't me, Rose. I have all his memories, but it wasn't me who lost you. I never loved you. You never came back to find me— I wasn't there. It wasn't _me_." His words pushed her away, but his hand gripped hers.

"Do you love me?" she asked.

"Very much," his answer was little more than a breath. "But the question is, do you love me?"

She didn't answer. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. His hand released hers just long enough to slip around her and reach for her fingers on the other side; so that his palm curved over the back of her hand. He laced his fingers though hers the wrong way round and gave a soft squeeze. He cradled her into his chest and she realized, in a flash, that perhaps he was a little bit better than her Doctor. A little sweeter. A little softer.

She turned her face up and in so that her nose brushed against his loosened collar. He still wore his suit, but the tie was missing. Lying about her flat somewhere no doubt. She lifted her hand and brushed the pads of her fingertips against his collar bone. She leaned in further and kissed the hollow. She felt his pulse quicken as she kissed his throat. His rough jaw. When she found his mouth his hands gripped her hair pulling her roughly to him. He bit her bottom lip. He tugged her head back. He held her so tightly, and kissed her so deeply she could hardly breathe.

One moment his hands rocked her hips against him, the next one was snaking up her cotton shirt and realizing she wasn't wearing a bra. He fondled one breast, pinching her nipple so hard it almost hurt.

She unbuttoned his shirt and he tried to remove his jacket at the same time. Their arms tangled, she released him to his own devices momentarily to lift her red tee over her head, gingerly stood up and backward so they could get both her shorts and his trousers off. She giggled.

"What's so funny?" the Doctor stood before her in blue gray paisley briefs that left nothing to the imagination.

"Erm, nuffin. Should've known, that's all. You're pants are always really tight."

"What?"

"Nuffin, really," she stepped forward and placed her hands on his waist, standing on tip toe to kiss him again.

"You don't like my pants," he said into her mouth.

"They're brilliant, really," she tugged them off and pushed him back down onto the sofa. She pulled her hair back, tying it into a knot as best she could, and knelt down. She kissed him first, his hands crept down beneath the satin of her panties. She gave a soft moan, but pushed him back and lowered her head, taking his cock in her mouth. He gasped audibly and his hands gripped her shoulders.

She had to think back momentarily, it'd been a while since she gave anyone a blow job. She'd never been much into it with Mickey—at all really. Ever. He always got a little too into it and tried to shove down her throat. He'd apologize later but that never stopped him from doing it again.

This was rather different though. The Doctor was fairly quiet, but there were small sounds. She began slowly, circling the head with her tongue. His breath had been fairly steady, but thick in his throat. Now she began in earnest, drawing him in rather further. Sucking rather harder. His hands kneaded her shoulders; gripping and releasing. But other than that he was very still. After a minute or two he seemed to simply hang on for dear life. His body was rigid.

She stopped almost abruptly. Easing back so only the outside of her lips touched him, then when he whimpered, she eased him back slowly. She cupped his balls, tugging on them gently. Letting him glide somewhat deeper into her throat, though not too far. She swallowed against him and he shuddered. She grinned, as best she could, and began again. A little faster. A little harder. He seemed to be holding his breath. His fingers gripped her hair now, so tight it was hard to keep moving. He groaned and exhaled. She tasted him, somewhat bitter, as he came at the back of her throat. She slowed, waiting until he was spent, and released him.

She patted his knee softly and stood up, walking to the kitchen sink where she spit and rinsed. When she returned she had barely moved past the coffee table before he took her arm and pulled her down onto the sofa. It wasn't wide, but they managed both of them. He above. She below.

One arm he cradled under her head, his free hand roaming, exploring her face. He ran his fingers over her brows, across her cheek. Her lips he traced, and then kissed. He trailed his fingers down her collar bone to her breast. He cupped it softly. She closed her eyes as his lips found the nipple. She wriggled a little under him, pressing her hands to the small of his back. He leaned into the sofa long enough to slide his hand down between them. He slid over the fabric at first, then as it grew damp, he slid his hand down the waistband. Everywhere he touched he was slow. Gentle.

She moaned into his shoulder. He sucked her nipple as he moved his thumb against her clit, still rocking his hand. She gasped a few times in short succession. He covered her lips with his. Their tongues slid over one another in rhythm. She broke away only to cry out once. Her body shuddered over and over as he slowed. She pressed her face to his neck, catching her breath. He kissed her again. Slowly. Deeply.

After a moment she slid halfway off the sofa and reached for her t-shirt which she handed him to dry off on. He chuckled, but didn't fail to dry of his hand. He slid into the crack of the sofa so they lay side by side, barely. He kept his arms around her waist to prevent her from falling.

It wasn't apathy that kept Rose from suggesting they retreat to the bedroom. And it wasn't a lack of wanting that had her choose fooling around on the sofa rather than say making love on cool sheets. It was—well it was whatever.

Bringing him to her bed felt like a formal invitation. She didn't want him to go, but she wasn't sure she really wanted him to stay either. She didn't want to lose him—but she still wondered who exactly she was keeping. This was worse than when she'd first met him. New him. She'd trusted him so many times without question. Never wondering if he was right. For her, it was him. Automatic.

She drew her fingernails over the soft hair on his chest. There wasn't much, but it was dark. Curly. She liked his body—lean but sinewy. Usually every fiber was alive with energy. Now he was so still; languid.

"What're you thinking?" he asked.

"I dunno—that per'aps your soul's the same but… You're not like 'im. Not at all. 'E'd never 'ave allowed 'imself to do this. 'E never let me—" she sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said. And she could tell he was. She thought he was done, but then he spoke again.

"I've loved many people. Or—he has. Gah, that's confusing," he stopped for a moment, "Look, I remember it. It was me because I _remember it_ and I feel it. Everything I do, everything I am, has to come from what I _feel_," he seemed to be more telling himself than her. He stopped, staring off into space.

"Watching people die, it hurts. But there's always people that die. Across the whole universe. It's natural, that's what happens. Especially when you live a long time. I felt a distance from it. But Rose, I betrayed my own people to save the Universe. To save _Time_. That hurt for a long time. Still does, if I think too hard about it. Like a bruise. Still, it's far away. I made new families, over and over. Lost them. And that hurts too. Don't think I didn't love them, Rose. I loved every friend I ever made. But—" his voice grew a bit hoarse and he didn't speak again for a long time.

"There's never been anyone like you. I wanted to stop myself from loving you. I had never before, in my entire existence, been afraid until the moments when you were suddenly in danger. There was never an action I questioned. There was never a person who's existence gripped my heart with such terror as you have."

"But that's a good thing!" she sat up. "Love is supposed to 'urt—'Ow can you know it's love unless you're 'eart breaks at the very thought of losin it. I gave ya all of myself—again and again. Look 'ow far I came to find ya—'Im— _God_," she moved away and sat on the coffee table.

"He can't do it. He's torn—at war with himself. Half of him wants to throw away his whole existence to be with you, half of him simply doesn't. But, I _am that part_. That _half_."

"The part 'e wants to be rid of," she shook her head.

"_Rose_."

"But see, it's all about what you—'e wants. Wanted," she grimaced. "No one ever stopped to ask me if I wanted to settle down on a planet and pop out babies. If I really wanted those things—do ya think I'd have been attracted to a strange blue box and a mad man? I don't want to live out my life in some quiet domestic utopia. Why do ya think I started workin for this reality's answer to UNIT." She got up, pulled her knickers back on. Then the shorts. She left the room for a moment and came back in a white bra, pulling a blue-gray tank top over her head. He was suddenly re-trousered. His shirt on, though he was still buttoning it.

"Sorry," she said. "I'm sorry. None of that's your fault."

"It's alright. You're really angry you."

"Yes, no. I suppose it's really all over now. If 'e showed up to take me back, I'd want to go but—would it be worth it? To always be kept at arm's length."

"Would it?"

"Wendy has to grow up, I guess. Can't stop it," she sighed again, but with resignation rather than exasperation. She ran her hands over her face, through her hair, as if to wipe the slate clean.

"I really do love you, Rose."

"Are you really my Doctor?" she looked into his eyes, searching. Beseeching.

"I don't know how else to be," there was a tear in his eye.

"Yeah?" she asked again. He knodded.

"I promise."

Ok," she said. She took his hand, drawing him up. She led him to her bedroom doorway where she stopped and turned to face him. She stood on tiptoe for one soft kiss. She yielded one last time. Accepting his words as though they were the words of creation. The words that began time itself: _In the beginning was the word_—

"Ok" she said again. _Ok I will be yours. Ok I will love you. Ok we can begin again. Ok, I'll give in. I'll remake myself for you. Just this once. Ok._


End file.
